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RILEY FARM-RHYMES 
WITH COUNTRY PICTURES 



(goofts 6g 
♦ ♦♦ 

NEGHBORLY POEMS 

SKETCHES IN PROSE WITH 
1NTERLUD1NG VERSES 

AFTER WHILES 

PIPES O' PAN AT ZEKES- 
BURY. (Prose and Verse) 

RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD 

THE FLYING ISLANDS OF 
THE NIGHT 

GREEN FIELDS AND RUN- 
NING BROOKS 

ARMAZINDY 

A CHILD-WORLD 

HOME-FOLKS 

HIS PA'S ROMANCE (Portrait 
by Clay) 

GREENFIELD EDITION 
Sold only in sets. Eleven volumes 
uniformly bound in sage-green 

cloth, gilt top $13.50 

The same in half-calf 27.50 



OLD-FASHIONED ROSES 

(English Edition) 
THE GOLDEN YEAR 

(English Edition) 
POEMS HERE AT HOME 
RUBAIYAT OF DOC SIFERS 
THE BOOK OF JOYOUS 

CHILDREN 
RILEY CHILD-RHYMES 

(Pictures by Vawter) 
RILEY LOVE-LYRICS 

(Pictures by Dyer) 
RILEY FARM-RHYMES 

(Pictures bv Vawter) 
AN OLD SWEETHEART OF 

MINE (Pictures bv Christy) 
OUT TO OLD AUNT MARY'S 

(Pictures by Christy) 
A DEFECTIVE SANTA CLAUS 

(Forty Pictures by Relyea and 

Vawter) 





As he leaves the house, bare-headed, and goes out to feed the stock 



RILEY 

FARM-RHYMES 



JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 



WITH 

COUNTRY PICTURES 

BY 

WILL VAWTER 



INDIANAPOLIS 

THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



Copyright, 1883, 1887, 1888, 1890, 1891, 1892, 1894. 
1896, 1898, 1899 and 1905 

by 

James Whitcomb Riley 

All rights reserved 



nsKARY of 0GN6RE8S 
m Sopies rfecavttu 
*EP, II 1905 

^•3op^rtgnt urn 
3©PV s» 



r+ 



PRESS OF 

BRAUNWORTH & CO. 

BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN, N. Y. 



Inscribed with all Grateful Esteem 

to 

The Good Old-Fashioned People 




ft? 

V 



THE deadnin and the thicket's jes' a b'ilin' full o' June, 
From the rattle o J the cricket, to the yaller-hammer J s tune; 
And the catbird in the bottom and the sap-suck on the 

snag, 
Seems's ef they cain't — od-rot-em! — jes 3 do nothin 3 else 

but brag! 

There' music in the twitter o' the bluebird and the jay, 
And that sassy little critter jes' a-peckin' all the day; 
There' music in the "flicker," and there' music in the 

thrush, 
And there' music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in the 

brush ! — 

There' music all around me! — And I go back — in a 

dream 
Szveeter yit than ever found me fast asleep: — And, in the 

stream 
That used to split the medder zuher 3 the dandylions 

grozved, 
I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the 

road. 



Brook Song, The ........ 

Canary at the Farm, A . . , . 

Clover, The . . 

i.Coqntry Pathway, A . . . . . . 

Griggsby's Station ... ... 

How John Quit the Farm 

June ... 

Knee-Deep in June 

" Mylo Jones's Wife " 

Old-Fas hioned Roses .... . . 

Old Man's Nursery Rhyme 

Old October 

Old Winters On the Farm 

Orchard Lands of Long Ago, The 

Romancin' 

September Dark 

Song of Long Ago, A . ■ 

Tale of the Airly Days, A 

Thoughts fer the Discuraged Farmer 

Tree-Toad, The 

Up and Down Old Brandywine . 

Wet- Weather Talk 

When Early March Seems Middle May 
When the Frost is on the Punkin . . 
When the Green Gits Back in the Trees 
Where the Children Used to Play . . . 
Wortermelon Time 



PAGE 

41 

76 
105 
117 

83 

59 
164 

91 

5i 
113 
159 
109 
176 

23 
179 
101 
171 
152 

46 
167 

135 

36 

147 
27 
32 

79 
127 



(xv) 



PAGE 

As He Leaves the House, Bare-Headed, and Goes Out to 

Feed the Stock Frontispiece 

The Orchard Lands of Long Ago — Title 23 

Seas That Float and Overflow 25 

When the Frost is on the Punkin — Title .... 27 

The Husky, Rusty Russel of the Tossels of the Corn . 29 

And Your Cider-Makin' 's Over .-....* 31 

When the Green Gits Back in the Trees — Title . . 32 

Work is the Least 0' my Idees . ■ 33 

Wet- Weather Talk — Title 36 

It Hain't no Use to Grumble and Complane .... 37 

Wet- Weather Talk — Tailpiece 40 

The Brook- Song — Title 4 1 

Came a Truant Boy Like Me 43 

The Brook-Song — Tailpiece 45 

Thoughts fer the Discuraged Farmer — Title ... 46 

Theyr PeAceabler in Pot-Pies Than Any Other Thing . 47 

"Mylo Jones's Wife" — Title \ . 5 1 

She's the Boss of Her Own House !....... 53 

" Mylo Jones's Wife " — Tailpiece 56 

Back Whare He'd Ruther Be With His Team ... 57 

How John Quit the Farm — Title ....... 59 

When Harvest-Time Come On 61 

His Mother Clingin' to Him at the Gate 65 

Sence Then the Old Home Here was Mighty Lonesome . 69 

And Putt His Arms Round Mother's Neck .... r3 

(xvii) ' 



illustrations — Continued 

PAGE 

How John Quit the Farm — Tailpiece 75 

A Canary at the Farm 77 

Where the Children Used to Play — Title .... 79 

Winding Yonder to the Orchard 81 

Griggsby's Station — Title 83 

Ever' Neighbor Round the Place is Dear as a Relation 85 

Griggsby's Station — Tailpiece . 88 

I Want to See the Piece-Quilts the Jones Girls is 

Makin' 89 

Knee-Deep in June — Title 91 

Through the Wavin' Leaves Above 93 

Work 'at Kindo Goes Ag'in my Convictions ! . . . . 97 

Knee-Deep in June — Tailpiece 100 

September Dark — Title . 101 

September Dark — Tailpiece , . . 102 

The Low, Slow Moon, and Upward Drifts 103 

The Clover — Title 105 

And So I Love Clover ........... 107 

Old October — Title 109 

Hickernuts a Feller Hears 11 1 

Old-Fashioned Roses — Title 113 

Yit the Doorway Here, Without 'Em, Would be Lone- 

somer 115 

A Country Pathway — Title 117 

I Take the Path That Leads Me as it May .- . . .119 

Or, at the Creek, Leads o'er a Limpid Pool .... 123 

Wortermelon Time — Title • 127 

When You Split One Down the Back and Jolt the 

Halves in Two 129 

And the New-Moon Hangin' Ore Us Like a Yeller- 

Cored Slice 133 

Up and Down Old Brandywine — Title . 135 

In and on Betwixt the Trees ......... 137 

Same Old Ripple Lips Away ......... 141 

(xviii) 



illustrations — Continued 



With a Dad-Burn Hook-and-Line ....... 

When Early March Seems Middle May — ■ Title 

And Choppers' Hands are Bare 

Early March — Tailpiece .......... 

A Tale of the Airly Days — Title . 

The Times as They Ust to Be 

A Tale of the Airly Days — Tailpiece 

And the Children Gethers Home Onc't More . 

Old Man's Nursery Rhyme — Title 

Startin' Out Rabbit-Huntin' Early as the Dawn . 

June — Title 

Month of Indolent Repose 

The Tree-Toad — Title 

Some Farmer Would Come A-Drivin' Past 

A Song of Long Ago — Title 

Through the Pasture-Bars ' 

As the Memory May Know ......... 

Old Winters on the Farm — Title 

It 'Ud Keep a Town-Boy Hoppin' 

Romancin' — Title 

Whare the Hazel-Bushes Tosses Down Theyr Shadders 

Then's When F B'en A-Fishin'! 

Romancin' — Tailpiece ...".. 

End Picture .....-,.. .'.....-''. . 



PAGE 

145 
147 
149 

151 
152 

153 
156 
157 
159 
161 
164 

165 
167 
169 
171 
173 
175 
176 
177 
179 
181 
185 
187 
188 




RILEY FARM-RHYMES 



IK 




THE ORCHARD LANDS OF LONG AGO 

THE orchard lands of Long Ago ! 
O drowsy winds, awake, and blow 
The snowy blossoms back to me. 
And all the buds that used to be ! 
Blow back along the grassy ways 
Of truant feet, and lift the haze 
Of happy summer from the trees 
That trail their tresses in the seas 
Of grain that float and overflow 
The orchard lands of Long Ago ! 

23 



THE ORCHARD LANDS OF LONG AGO 

Blow back the melody that slips 

In lazy laughter from the lips 

That marvel much if any kiss 

Is sweeter than the apple's is. 

Blow back the twitter of the birds — • 

The lisp, the titter, and the words 

Of merriment that found the shine 

Of summer-time a glorious wine 

That drenched the leaves that loved it so, 

In orchard lands of Long Ago ! 

O memory ! alight and sing 
Where rosy-bellied pippins cling, 
And golden russets glint and gleam. 
As, in the old Arabian dream. 
The fruits of that enchanted tree 
The glad Aladdin robbed for me ! 
And, drowsy winds, awake and fan 
My blood as when it overran 
A heart ripe as the apples grow 
In orchard lands of Long Ago ! 



•*4 






' 




,.!,, M%:M!i: . -i!...,- 



WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN 

WHEN the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in 
the shock, 
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' 

turkey-cock, 
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the 

hens, 
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence; 
O, it's then's the times a feller is a-feelin' at his best, 
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful 

rest, 
As he leaves the house, bare-headed, and goes out to feed 

the stock, 
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the 

shock. 

27 



WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN 

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere 
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is 

here — 
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the 

trees, 
And the mumble of the hummiir -birds and buzzirt' of the 

bees ; 
But the air's so appetizin' ; and the landscape through the 

haze 
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days 
Is a pictur that no painter has the coloriir to mock — 
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the 

shock. 

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn, 

And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the 

morn ; 
The stubble in the furries — kindo' lonesome-like, but still 
A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill ; 
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed ; 
The hosses in theyr stalls below — the clover overhead ! — 
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock, 
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the 

shock ! 

28 



WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN 

Then your apples all is getherd, and the ones a feller keeps 
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps ; 
And your cider-makin' 's over, and your wimmern-folks 

is through 
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and 

saussage, too ! . . . 
I don't know how to tell it — but ef sich a thing could be 
As the Angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around 

on me — 
I'd want to 'commodate 'em — all the whole-indurin' 

flock — 
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the 

shock ! 




3i 




WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE 
TREES 



IN Spring, when the green gits back in the trees, 
And the sun comes out and stays, 
And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze, 

And you think of yer bare-foot days ; 
When you ort to work and you want to not, 

And you and yer wife agrees 
It's time to spade up the garden-lot, 
When the green gits back in the trees 
Well ! work is the least o' my idees 
When the green, you know, gits back in the trees ! 

3 2 



•/- 





WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES 

When the green gits back in the trees, and bees 

Is a-buzzin' aroun' ag'in 
In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please 

Old gait they bum roun' in; 
When the groun's all bald whare the hay-rick stood, 

And the crick's riz, and the breeze 
Coaxes the bloom in the old dogwood, 

And the green gits back in the trees, — 
I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these, 
The time when the green gits back in the trees ! 

When the whole tail-feathers o' Wintertime 

Is all pulled out and gone ! 
And the sap it thaws and begins to climb, 

And the swet it starts out on 
A feller's forred, a-gittin' down 

At the old spring on his knees — 
I kindo' like jest a-loaferin' roun' 

When the green gits back in the trees — 
Jest a-potterin' roun' as I — durn — please — 
When the green, you know, gits back in the trees ! 



35 




WET-WEATHER TALK 

IT hain't no use to grumble and complane ; 
It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice. — 
When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, 
W'y, rain's my choice. 

Men ginerly, to all intents — 

Although they're apt to grumble some — 
Puts most theyr trust in Providence, 
And takes things as they come — 
That is, the commonality 
Of men that's lived as long as me 
Has watched the world enugh to learn 
They're not the boss of this concern. 

36 



WET-WEATHER TALK 

With sonic, of course, it's different — 

I've saw young men that knowed it all, 
And didn't like the way things went 
On this terrestchul ball ; — 

But all the same, the rain, some way, 
Rained jest as hard on picnic day; 
Er, when they railly zvanted it, 
It mayby wouldn't rain a bit ! 

In this existunce, dry and wet 

Will overtake the best of men — 
Some little skift o' clouds'll shet 
The sun off now and then. — 

And mayby, whilse you're wundern who 
You've fool-like lent your umbrell' to, 
And want it — out'll pop the sun, 
And you'll be glad you hain't got none ! 

It aggervates the farmers, too — 

They's too much wet, er too much sun, 
Er work, er waitin' round to do 
Before the plowin' 's done : 

And mayby, like as not, the wheat, 
Jest as it's lookin' hard to beat 

39 



WET-WEATHER TALK 

Will ketch the storm — and jest about 
The time the corn's a-jintin' out. 

These-here cy-clones a-foolin' round — 

And back'ard crops ! — and wind and rain !— 
And yit the corn that's wallerd down 
May elbow up again ! — 

They hain't no sense, as I can see, 
Fer mortuls, sich as us, to be 
A-faultin' Natchur's wise intents, 
And lockin' horns with Providence ! 

It hain't no use to grumble and complane ; 
It's jest as cheap and easy to rejoice. — 
When God sorts out the weather and sends rain, 
W'y, rain's my choice. 




40 




THE BROOK-SONG 



LITTLE brook ! Little brook ! 
You have such a happy look — 
Such a very merry manner, as you swerve and 
curve and -crook — 
And your ripples, one and one, 
Reach each other's hands and run 

Like laughing little children in the sun ! 

4i 



THE BROOK-SONG 

Little brook, sing to me : . 
Sing about a bumblebee 
That tumbled from a lily-bell and grumbled mum- 
blingly, 
Because he wet the film 
Of his wings, and had to swim, 

While the water-bugs raced round and 
laughed at him ! 

Little brook — sing a song 
Of a leaf that sailed along 
Down the golden-braided centre of your current 
swift and strong, 
And a dragon-fly that lit 
On the tilting rim of it, 

And rode away and wasn't scared a bit. 

And sing — how oft in glee 
Came a truant boy like me, 
Who loved to lean and listen to your lilting melody, 
Till the gurgle and refrain 
Of vour music in his brain 

Wrought a happiness as keen to him as 
pain. 

42 



THE BROOK-SONG 

Little brook — laugh and leap ! 
Do not let the dreamer weep : 
Sing him all the songs of summer till he sink in 
softest sleep ; 
And then sing soft and low 
Through his dreams of long ago — 

Sing back to him the rest he used to know! 




43 




THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED 
FARMER 

THE summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin' locus' 
trees ; 
And the clover in the pastur is a big day fer the bees, 
And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on the 

sly, 
Tel they stutter in theyr buzzin' and stagger as they fly. 
The flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on his 

wings 
And roll up his feathers, by the sassy way he sings ; 
And the hoss-fly is a-whettin'-up his forelegs fer biz, 
And the off-mare is a-switchin' all of her tale they is. 

4 6 



THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER 

You can hear the blackbirds jawin' as they f oiler up the 

plow — 
Oh, theyr bound to git theyr brekfast, and theyr not 

a-cariir how ; 
So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on the 

wing — 
But theyr peaceabler in pot-pies than any other thing : 
And it's when I git my shotgun drawed up in stiddy rest, 
She's as full of tribbelation as a yeller-jacket's nest; 
And a few shots before dinner, when the sun's a-shinin' 

Tight, 
Seems to kindo'-sorto' sharpen up a feller's appetite ! 

They's been a heap o' rain, but the sun's out to-day, 
And the clouds of the wet spell is all cleared away, 
And the woods is all the greener, and the grass is greener 

still; 
It may rain again to-morry, but I don't think it will. 
Some says the crops is ruined,- and the corn's drownded 

out, 
And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, without doubt ; 
But the kind Providence that has never failed us yet, 
Will be on hands onc't more at the 'leventh hour, I bet! 

49 . 



THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER 

Does the medder-lark complane, as he swims high and dry 
Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the sky? 
Does the quail set up and whissel in a disappinted way, 
Er hang his head in silunce, and sorrow all the day? 
Is the chipmuck's health a-failin' ? — Does he walk, er does 

he run? 
Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare jest like they've 

alius done? 
Is they anything the matter with the rooster's lungs er 

voice ? 
Ort a mortul be complainin' when dumb animals rejoice? 

Then let us, one and all, be contentud with our lot; 
The June is here this morning, and the sun is shining hot. 
Oh ! let us fill our harts up with the glory of the day, 
And banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow fur away ! 
Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide, 
Sich fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied; 
Fer the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew, 
And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips fer me 
and you. 



SO 



" MYLO JONESTS WIFE " 

MYLO JONES'S wife" was all 
I heerd, mighty near, last Fall— 
Visitun relations down 
T'other side of Morgantown ! 
Mylo Jones's wife she does 
This and that, and "those" and "thus" ! — 
Can't 'bide babies in her sight — 
Ner no childern, day and night, 
Whoopin' round the premises — 
Ner no nothin' else, I guess ! 

5i 



" mylo jones's wife " 

Mylo Jones's wife she 'lows 

She's the boss of her own house ! — 

Mylo — consequences is — 

Stays whare things seem some like his, — 

Uses, mostly, with the stock — 

Coaxin' "Old Kate" not to balk, 

Ner kick hoss-flies' branes out, ner 

Act, I s'pose, so much like her! 

Yit the wimmern-folks tells you 

She's perfection. — Yes they do ! 

Mylo's wife she says she's found 

Home hain't home with men-folks round 

When they's work like hern to do — 

Picklin' pears and butchern, too, 

And a-rendern lard, and then 

Cookhr fer a pack of men 

To come trackin' up the flore 

She's scrubbed tel she'll scrub no more! — - 

Yit she'd keep things clean ef they 

Made her scrub tel Jedgmunt Day ! 

Mylo Jones's wife she sews 
Carpet-rags and patches clothes 

52 



MYLO JONES S WIFE 

Jest year in and out! — and yit 
Whare's the livin' use of it? 
She asts Mylo that. — And he 
Gits back whare he'd ruther be, 
With his team; — jest plows — and don't 
Never sware — like some folks won't! 
Think ef he'd cut loose, I gum ! 
'D he'p his heavenly chances some ! 

Mylo's wife don't see no use, 
Ner no reason ner excuse 
Fer his pore relations to 
Hang round like they alius do ! 
Thare 'bout onc't a year — and she — 
She jest ga'nts 'em, folks tells me, 
On spiced pears ! — Pass Mylo one, 
He says "No, he don't chuse none !" 
Workin' men like Mylo they 
'D ort to have meat ev'ry day ! 

Dad-burn Mylo Jones's wife ! 
Ruther rake a blame caseknife 
'Crost my wizzen than to see 
Sich a womern rulin' me! — 

55. 



MYLO JONES S WIFE 

Ruther take and turn in and 
Raise a fool mule-colt by hand ! 
Mylo, though — od-rot the man ! — 
Jest keeps ca'm — like some folks can- 
And 'lows sich as her, I s'pose, 
Is Man's he'pmcct! — Mercy knows! 




56 



..■;:;-■:&.: 



"$\ :*'■ 



HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 

NOBODY on the old farm here but Mother, me and 
John, 
Except, of course, the extry he'p when harvest-time 

comes on, — 
And then, I want to say to you, we needed he'p about, 
As you'd admit, ef you'd a-seen the way the crops turned 
out! 

59 



HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 

A better quarter-section ner a richer soil warn't found 
Than this-here old-home place o' ourn fer fifty miles 

around ! — 
The house was small — but plenty-big we found it from 

the day 
That John — our only livin' son — packed up and went 

away. 

.You see, we tuk sich pride in John — his mother more'n 

me — 
That's natchurul ; but both of us was proud as proud 

could be ; 
Fer the boy, from a little chap, was most oncommon 

bright, 
And seemed in work as well as play to take the same 

delight. 

He alius went a-whistlin' round the place, as glad at heart 

As robins up at five o'clock to git an airly start ; 

And many a time 'fore daylight Mother's waked me up 

to say — 
"Jest listen, David! — listen! — Johnny's beat the birds 

to-day !" 

60 



HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 

High-sperited from boyhood, with a most inquirin' turn, — ■ 
He wanted to learn ever'thing on earth they was to learn : 
He'd ast more plaguy questions in a mortal-minute here 
Than his grandpap in Paradise could answer in a year! 

And read! w'y, his own mother learnt him how to read 

and spell ; 
And "The Childern of the Abbey" — w'y, he knowed that 

book as well 
At fifteen as his parents ! — and "The Pilgrim's Progress," 

too — 
Jest knuckled down, the shaver did, and read 'em through 

and through ! 

At eighteen, Mother 'lowed the boy must have a better 

chance — 
That we ort to educate him, under any circumstance ; 
And John he j'ined his mother, and they ding-donged and 

kep' on, 
Tel I sent him off to school in town, half glad that he was 

gone. 

But — I missed him — w'y, of course I did ! — The Fall and 

Winter through 
I never built the kitchen-fire, er split a stick in two, 

63 



HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 

Er fed the stock, er butchered, er swung up a gambr el-pin, 
But what I thought o' John, and wished that he was home 



He'd come, sometimes — on Sund'ys most — and stay the 

Sund'y out ; 
And on Thanksgivin'-Day he 'peared to like to be about : 
But a change was workin' on him — he was stiller than 

before, 
And didn't joke, ner laugh, ner sing and whistle any more. 

And his talk was all so proper ; and I noticed, with a sigh, 
He was tryin' to raise side-whiskers, and had on a striped 

tie, 
And a standin'-collar, ironed up as stiff and slick as bone ; 
And a breast-pin, and a watch and chain and plug-hat of 

his own. 



But when Spring-weather opened out, and John was to 

come home 
And he'p me through the season, I was glad to see him 

come ; 
But my happiness, that evening, with the settin' sun went 

down, 
When he bragged of "a position" that was offered him in 

town. 

6 4 



HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 

"But," says I, "you'll not accept it?" "W'y, of course I 

will," says he. — 
"This drudgin' on a farm," he says, "is not the life fer 

me; 
I've set my stakes Up higher," he continued, light and gay, 
"And town's" the place fer me, and I'm a-goin' right 

away !" 

•And go he did ! — his mother clingin' to him at the gate, 

A-pleadin' and a-cryin' ; but it hadn't any weight. 

I was tranquiller, and told her 'twarn't no use to worry 

so, 
And onclasped her arms from round his neck round mine 

— and let him go ! 

I felt a little bitter feelin' foolin' round about 
The aidges of my conscience ; but I didn't let it out ; — 
I simply retch out, trimbly-like, and tuk the boy's hand, 
And though I didn't say a word, I knowed he'd under- 
stand. 

And — well ! — sence then the old home here was mighty 

lonesome, shore ! 
With me a-workin' in the field, and Mother at the door, 

6 7 



HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 

Her face ferever to'rds the town, and fadin' more and 

more — 
Her only son nine miles away, a-clerkin' in a store ! 

The weeks and months dragged by us ; and sometimes the 

boy would write 
A letter to his mother, sayin' that his work was light, 
And not to feel oneasy about his health a bit — 
Though his business was confmin', he was gittin' used 

to it. 

And sometimes he would write and ast how / was gittin' 

on, 
And ef I had to pay out much fer he'p sence he was gone ; 
And how the hogs was doin', and the balance of the stock, 
And talk on fer a page er two jest like he used to talk. 

And he wrote, along 'fore harvest, that he guessed he 

would git home, 
Fer business would, of course, be dull in town. — But 

didn't come : — 
We got a postal later, sayin' when they had no trade 
They filled the time "invoicin' goods," and that was why 

he stayed. 

68 



HOW 'JOHN QUIT THE FARM 

And then he quit a-writin' altogether: Not a word — 

Exceptin' what the neighbers brung who'd been to town 
and heard 

What store John was clerkin' in, and went round to in- 
quire 

If they could buy their goods there less and sell their 
produce higher. 

And so the Summer faded out, and Autumn wore away, 
And a keener Winter never fetched around Thanksgivin'- 

Day! 
The night before that day of thanks I'll never quite fergit, 
The wind a-howlin' round the house — it makes me creepy 

yit! 
And there set me and Mother — me a-twistin' at the prongs 
Of a green scrub-ellum forestick with a vicious pair of 

tongs, 
And Mother sayin', "David! David!" in a' undertone, 
As though she thought that I was thinkin' bad-words 

unbeknown. 

'T've dressed the turkey, David, fer to-morrow," Mother 

said, 
A-tryin' to wedge some pleasant subject in my stubborn 

head, — 

71 



HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 

"And the mince-meat I'm a-mixin' is perfection .mighty 

nigh ; 

And the pound-cake is delicious-rich — " "Who'll eat 

'em?" I-savs-L 



"The cramberries is drippin'-sweet," says Mother, runnin' 

on, 
P'tendin' not to hear me; — "and somehow I thought of 

John 
All the time they was a-jellin' — fer you know they alius 

was 
His favorite — he likes 'era so !"■ Says I, "Well, s'pose 

he does?" 



"Oh, nothin' much !" says Mother, with a quiet sort o' 

smile — 
"This gentleman behind my cheer may tell you after 

while !" 
And as I turnt and looked around, some one riz up and 

leant 
And putt his arms round Mother's neck, and laughed in 

low content. 

72 



HOW JOHN QUIT THE FARM 

"It's me" he says — "your fool-boy John, come back to 
shake your hand ; 

Set down with you, and talk with you, and make you un- 
derstand 

How dearer yit than all the world is this old home that 
we 

Will spend Thanksgivin' in fer life — jest Mother, you 
and me!" 



Nobody on the old farm here but Mother, me and John, 
Except, of course, the extry he'p when harvest-time comes 

on ; 
And then, I want to say to you, we need sich he'p about, 
As you'd admit, ef you could see the way the crops turns 

out ! 










75 



A CANARY AT THE FARM 

FOLKS has be'n to town, and Sahry 
Fetched 'er home a pet canary, — 
And of all the blame', contrary, 

Aggervatin' things alive ! 
I love music — that's I love it 
When it's free — and plenty of it ; — 
But I kindo' git above it, 
At a dollar-eighty-five ! 

Reason's plain as I'm a-sayin', — 
Jes' the idy, now, o' layin' 
Out yer money, and a-payin' 

Fer a wilier-cage and bird, 
When the medder-larks is wingin' 
Round you, and the woods is ringin' 
With the beautifullest singin' 

That a mortal ever heard ! 

Sahry's sot, tho'. — So I tell her 

He's a purty little feller, 

With his wings o' creamy-yeller, 

And his eyes keen as a cat ; 
And the twitter o' the critter 
'Pears to absolutely glitter! 
Guess Fll haf to go and git her 

A high-priceter cage 'n that! 

76 



Hr"«* m 



WHERE THE CHILDREN USED TO PLAY 



THE old farm-home is Mother's yet and mine, 
And filled it is with plenty and to spare, — 
But we are lonely here in life's decline, 

Though fortune smiles around us everywhere : 
We look across the gold 
Of the harvests, as of old — 
The corn, the fragrant clover, and the hay ; 
But most we turn our gaze, 
As with eyes of other days, 
To the orchard where the children used to play. 

79 



WHERE THE CHILDREN USED TO PLAY 

O from our life's full measure 
And rich hoard of worldly treasure 

We often turn our weary eyes away, 
And hand in hand we zvander 
Down the old r path winding yonder 

To the orchard where the children used to play. 

Our sloping pasture-lands are filled with herds ; 

The barn and granary-bins are bulging o'er : 
The grove's a paradise of singing birds — 

The woodland brook leaps laughing by the door ; 

Yet lonely, lonely still. 

Let us prosper as we will, 
Our old hearts seem so empty everyway — 

We can only through a mist 

See the faces we have kissed 
In the orchard where the children used to play. 

O from our life's full measure 
And rich hoard of worldly treasure 

We often turn our weary eyes away, 
And hand in hand we zvander' 
Dozvn the old path zvinding yonder 

To the orchard where the children used to play. 

80 




GRIGGSBY'S STATION 

PAP'S got his pattent-right, and rich as all creation ; 
But where's the peace and comfort that we all had 
before ? 
Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — 
Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore ! 



The likes of us a-livin' here ! It's jest a mortal pity 
To see us in this great big house, with cyarpets on the 
stairs, 
And the pump right in the kitchen ! And the city ! city ! 
city ! — 
And nothin' but the city all around us ever'wheres ! 

8 3 



GRIGGSBY S STATION 

Climb clean above the roof and look from the steeple, 
And never see a robin, nor a beech or ellum tree ! 

And right here in ear-shot of at least a thousan' people, 
And none that neighbors with us or we want to go and 
see ! - 



Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — 

Back where the latch-string's a-hangin' from the door, 

And ever' neighbor round the place is dear as a relation — ■ 
Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore ! 



I want to see the Wiggenses, the whole kit-and-bilin', 
A-drivin' up from Shallor Ford to stay the Sunday 
through ; 
And I want to see 'em hitchin' at their son-in-law's and 
pilin' 
Out there at 'Lizy Ellen's like they ust to do ! 

8 4 



Mi 




i 



GRIGGSBY S STATION 

I want to see the piece-quilts the Jones girls is makin' ; 
And I want to pester Laury 'bout their freckled hired 
hand, 
And joke her 'bout the widower she come purt' nigh 
a-takin', 
Till her Pap got his pension 'lowed in time to save his 
land. 



Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — 
Back where they's nothin' aggervatin' any more, 

Shet away safe in the woods around the old location- 
Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! 



I want to see Marindy and he'p her with her sewin', 
And hear her talk so lovin' of her man that's dead and 
gone, 
And stand up with Emanuel to show me how he's 
growin', 
And smile as I have saw her 'fore she putt her mourniri' 
on. 



87 



griggsby's station 

And I want to see the Samples, on the old lower eighty, 
Where John, our oldest boy, he was tuk and burried 
—for 

His own sake and Katy's, — and I want to cry with Katy 
As she reads all his letters over, writ from The War. 

What's in all this grand life and high situation, 

And nary pink nor hollyhawk a-bloomin' at the door ? — ■ 

Le's go a-visitin' back to Griggsby's Station — 
Back where we ust to be so happy and so pore! 




wm. 



■M 





KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 
I 

TELL you what I like the best — 
'Long about knee-deep in June, 
'Bout the time strawberries melts 
On the vine, — some afternoon 
Like to jes' git out and rest, 

And not work at nothin' else! 

91 



KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 
II 

Orchard's where I'd ruther be — 
Needn't fence it in fer me ! — 

Jes' the whole sky overhead, 
And the whole airth underneath— 
Sorto' so's a man kin breathe 

Like he ort, and kindo' has 
Elbow-room to keerlessly 

Sprawl out len'thways on the grass 
Where the shadders thick and soft 

As the kivvers on the bed 

Mother fixes in the loft 

Alius, when they's company ! 

Ill 

Jes' a-sorto' lazin' there — 
S'lazy, 'at you peek and peer 

Through the wavin' leaves above, 
Like a feller 'at's in love 
And don't know it, ner don't keer ! 
Ever'thing you hear and see 
Got some sort o' interest — 
Maybe find a bluebird's nest 

92 



w ** 



* «S 




\ 



^ 



c 

-#ii- 



fef 



KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 

Tucked up there conveenently 

Fer the boy 'at's ap' to be 

Up some other apple-tree ! 
Watch the swallers skootin' past 
'Bout as peert as you could ast; 

Er the Bob-white raise and whiz 

Where some other's whistle is. 

IV 

Ketch a shadder down below, 
And look up to find the crow — 
Er a hawk, — away up there, 
'Pearantly froze in the air ! — 

Hear the old hen squawk, and squat 

Over ever' chick she's got, 
Suddent-like ! — and she knows where 

That-air hawk is, well as you ! — 

You jes' bet yer life she do ! — 
Eyes a-glitterin' like glass, 
Waitin' till he makes a pass! 

V 
Pee-wees' singin', to express 
My opinion, 's second class, 

95 



KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 

Yit you'll hear 'em more er less ; 

Sapsucks gittin' down to biz, 
Weedin' out the lonesomeness ; 
Mr. Bluejay, full o' sass, 

In them base-ball clothes o' his, 
Sportin' round the orchard jes' 
Like he owned the premises ! 

Sun out in the fields kin sizz, 
But flat on yer back, I guess, 

In the shade's where glory is ! 
That's jes' what I'd like to do 
Stiddy fer a year er two ! 

VI 

Plague ! ef they ain't somepin' in 
Work 'at kindo' goes ag'in' 
My convictions ! — 'long about 
Here in June especially ! — 
Under some old apple-tree, 

Jes' a-restin' through and through, 
I could git along without 
Nothin' else at all to do 
Only jes' a-wishin' you . 

9 6 



V- 



KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 

Wuz a-gittin' there like me, 
And June was eternity ! 

VII 

Lay out there and try to see 
Jes' how lazy you kin be ! — 

Tumble round and souse yer head 
In the clover-bloom, er pull 

Yer straw hat acrost yer eyes 
And peek through it at the skies, 
Thinkin' of old chums 'at's dead, 
Maybe, smilin' back at you 
In betwixt the beautiful 

Clouds o' gold and white and blue !- 
Month a man kin railly love — 
June, you know, I'm talkin' of ! 

VIII 

March ain't never nothin' new ! : — 
Aprile's altogether too 

Brash fer me ! and May — I jes' 

'Bominate its promises, — 
Little hints o' sunshine and 
Green around the timber-land — 

LOFC. " 



KNEE-DEEP IN JUNE 

A few blossoms, and a few 
Chip-birds, and a sprout er two, — 
Drap asleep, and it turns in 
'Fore daylight and snows ag'in ! — - 
But when June comes — Clear my th'oat 

With wild honey ! — Rench my hair 
In the dew ! and hold my coat ! 

Whoop out loud ! and th'ow my hat I- 
June wants me, and I'm to spare ! 
Spread them shadders anywhere, 
I'll git down and waller there, 
And obleeged to you at that ! 







TOO 



■f 




SEPTEMBER DARK 



THE air falls chill; 
The whippoorwill 
Pipes lonesomely behind the hill 
The dusk grows dense, 
The silence tense ; 
And lo, the katydids commence. 



IOI 



SEPTEMBER DARK 



II 



Through shadowy rifts 

Of woodland, lifts 

The low, slow moon, and upward drifts, 

While left and right 

The fireflies' light 

Swirls eddying in the skirts of Night. 



Ill 

O Cloudland, gray 

And level, lay 

Thy mists across the face of Day! 

At foot and head, 

Above the dead, 

O Dews, weep on uncomforted ! 




102 




THE CLOVER 

SOME sings of the lily, and daisy, and rose, 
And the pansies and pinks that the Summertime 
throws 
In the green grassy lap of the medder that lays 
Blinkin' up at the skyes through the sunshiney days ; 
But what is the lily and all of the rest 
Of the flowers, to a man with a hart in his brest 
That was dipped brimmin' full of the honey and dew 
Of the sweet clover-blossoms his babyhood knew? 



105 



THE CLOVER 

I never set eyes on a clover-field now, 

Er fool round a stable, er climb in the mow, 

But my childhood comes back jest as clear and as plane 

As the smell of the clover I'm sniffin' again ; 

And I wunder away in a bare-footed dream, 

Whare I tangle my toes in the blossoms that gleam 

With the dew of the dawn of the morning of love 

Ere it wept ore the graves that I'm weepin' above. 



And so I love clover — it seems like a part 

Of the sacerdest sorrows and joys of my hart; 

And wharever it blossoms, oh, thare let me bow 

And thank the good God as I'm thankin' Him now ; 

And I pray to Him still fer the stren'th when I die, 

To go out in the clover and tell it good-bye, 

And lovin'ly nestle my face in its bloom 

While my soul slips away on a breth of pur fume. 



1 06 



^m^JlL^m 



OLD OCTOBER 

OLD October's purt' nigh gone, 
And the frosts is comin' on 
Little heavier every day — 
Like our hearts is thataway ! 
Leaves is changin' overhead 
Back from green to gray and red, 
Brown and yeller, with their stems 
Loosenin' on the oaks and e'ms ; 
And the balance of the trees 
Gittin' balder every breeze — 
Like the heads we're scratchin' on ! 
Old October's purt' nigh gone. 
109 



OLD OCTOBER 

I love Old October so, 
I can't bear to see her go — 
Seems to me like rosin' some 
Old-home relative er chum — 
'Pears like sorto' settin' by 
Some old friend 'at sigh by sigh 
Was a-passin' out o' sight 
Into everlastin' night! 
Hickernuts a feller hears 
Rattlin' down is more like tears 
Drappin' on the leaves below — 
I love Old October so ! 

Can't tell what it is about 
Old October knocks me out! — 
I sleep well enough at night — 
And the blamedest appetite 
Ever mortal man possessed, — 
Last thing et, it tastes the best !- 
Warnuts, butternuts, pawpaws, 
'lies and limbers up my jaws 
Fer raal service, sich as new 
Pork, spareribs, and sausage, too. 
Yit, fer all, they's somepin' 'bout 
Old October knocks me out ! 
no 





3} 




OLD-FASHIONED ROSES 

THEY ain't no style about 'em, 
And they're sorto' pale and faded, 
Yit the doorway here, without 'em, 
Would be lonesomer, and shaded 
With a good 'eal blacker shadder 

Than the morning-glories makes, 
And the sunshine would look sadder 
Fer their good old-fashion' sakes. 



I like 'em 'cause they kindo'- 
Sorto' make a feller like 'em ! 

And I tell you, when I find a 

Bunch out whur the sun kin strike 'em, 

113 



OLD-FASHIONED ROSES 

It alius sets me thinkin' 

O' the ones 'at used to grow 

And peek in thro' the chinkin' 
O' the cabin, don't you know ! 



And then I think o' mother, 

And how she ust to love 'em — 
When they wuzn't any other, 

'Less she found 'em up above 'em ! 
And her eyes, afore she shut 'em, 
Whispered with a smile and said 
We must pick a bunch and putt 'em 
In her hand when she wuz dead. 



But, as I wuz a-sayin', 

They ain't no style about 'em 
Very gaudy er displayin', 

But I wouldn't be without 'em,— 
'Cause I'm happier in these posies, 

And the hollyhawks and sich, 
Than the hummin'-bird 'at noses 
In the roses of the rich. 

114 




A COUNTRY PATHWAY 

I COME upon it suddenly, alone — 
A little pathway winding in the weeds 
That fringe the roadside ; and with dreams my own, 
I wander as it leads. 

Full wistfully along the slender way, 

Through summer tan of freckled shade and shine, 
I take the path that leads me as it may — 

Its every choice is mine. 

117 



A COUNTRY PATHWAY 

A chipmunk, or a sudden-whirring quail, ♦ 
Is startled by my step as on I fare — 

A garter-snake across the dusty trail 
Glances and — is not there. 

Above the arching jimson-weeds flare twos 
And twos of sallow-yellow butterflies, 

Like blooms of lorn primroses blowing loose 
When autumn winds arise. 

The trail dips — dwindles — broadens then, and lifts 
Itself astride a cross-road dubiously, 

And, from the fennel marge beyond it, drifts 
Still onward, beckoning me. 

And though it needs must lure me mile on mile 
Out of the public highway, still I go, 

My thoughts, far in advance in Indian-file, 
Allure me even so. 

Why, I am as a long-lost boy that went 
At dusk to bring the cattle to the bars, 

And was not found again, though Heaven lent 
His mother all the stars 

118 







J 



. ... ts.J 



A COUNTRY PATHWAY 

With which to seek him through that awful night. 

years of nights as vain ! — Stars never rise 
But well might miss their glitter in the light 

Of tears in mother-eyes ! 

So — on, with quickened breaths, I follow still — 

My avant-courier must be obeyed ! 
Thus am I led, and thus the path, at will, 

Invites me to invade 

A meadow's precincts, where my daring guide 
Clambers the steps of an old-fashioned stile, 

And stumbles down again, the other side, 
To gambol there awhile 

In pranks of hide-and-seek, as on ahead 

1 see it running, while the clover-stalks 
Shake rosy fists at me, as though they said — 

"You dog our country-walks 

"And mutilate us with your walking-stick ! — 
We will not suffer tamely what you do, 

And warn you at your peril, — for we'll sic 
Our bumblebees on you !" 

121 



A COUNTRY PATHWAY 

But I smile back, in airy nonchalance, — 

The more determined on ray wayward quest, 

As some bright memory a moment dawns 
A morning in my. breast — 

Sending a thrill that hurries me along 
In faulty similes of childish skips, 

Enthused with lithe contortions of a song 
Performing on my lips. 

In wild meanderings o'er pasture wealth — 
Erratic wanderings through dead'ning-lands, 

Where sly old brambles, plucking me by stealth, 
Put berries in my hands : 

Or the path climbs a bowlder — wades a slough— 
Or, rollicking through buttercups and flags, 

Goes gayly dancing o'er a deep bayou 
On old tree-trunks and snags : 

Or, at the creek, leads o'er a limpid pool 
Upon a bridge the stream itself has made, 

With some Spring-freshet for the mighty tool 
That its foundation laid. 

122 



A COUNTRY PATHWAY 

I pause a moment here to bend and muse, 
With dreamy eyes, on my reflection, where 

A boat-backed bug drifts on a helpless cruise, 
Or wildly oars the air, 

As, dimly seen, the pirate of the brook — 

The pike, whose jaunty hulk denotes his speed- 
Swings pivoting about, with wary look 
Of low and cunning greed. 

Till, filled with other thought, I turn again 
To where the pathway enters in a realm 

Of lordly woodland, under sovereign reign 
Of towering oak and elm. 

A puritanic quiet here reviles 

The almost whispered warble from the hedge, 
And takes a locust's rasping voice and files 

The silence to an edge. 

In such a solitude my sombre way 

Strays like a misanthrope within a gloom 

Of his own shadows — till the perfect day 
Bursts into sudden bloom, 

125 



A COUNTRY PATHWAY 

And crowns a long, declining stretch of space, 
Where King Corn's armies lie with flags unfurled, 

And where the valley's dint in Nature's face 
Dimples a smiling world. 

And lo ! through mists that may not be dispelled, 
I see an old farm homestead, as in dreams, 

Where, like a gem in costly setting held, 
The old log cabin gleams. 



O darling Pathway ! lead me bravely on 
Adown your valley-way, and run before 

Among the roses crowding up the lawn 
And thronging at the door, — 

And carry up the echo there that shall 
Arouse the drowsy dog, that he may bay 

The household out to greet the prodigal 
That wanders home to-day. 




T26 




WORTERMELON TIME 

OLD wortermelon time is a-comin' round again, 
And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n me, 
Fer the way I hanker after wortermelons is a sin — 
Which is the why and wharefore, as you can plainly see. 

Oh ! it's in the sandy soil wortermelons does the best, 
And it's thare they'll lay and waller in the sunshine and 
the dew 
Tel they wear all the green streaks clean off of theyr 
breast ; 
And you bet I ain't a-findin' any fault with them; air 
you ? 



127 



WORTERMELON TIME 

They ain't no better thing in the vegetable line; 

And they don't need much 'tending as ev'ry farmer 
knows ; 
And when theyr ripe and ready fer to pluck from the vine, 

I want to say to you theyr the best fruit that grows. 

It's some likes the yeller-core, and some likes the red, 
And it's some says "The Little Californy" is the best; 

But the sweetest slice of all I ever wedged in my head, 
Is the old "Edingburg Mounting-sprout," of the west. 

You don't want no punkins nigh your wortermelon 
vines — 
'Cause, some-way-another, they'll spile your melons, 
shore ; — 
I've seed 'em taste like punkins, from the core to the rines, 
Which may be a fact you have heerd of before. 

But your melons that's raised right and 'tended to with 
care, 
You can walk around amongst 'em with a parent's pride 
and joy, 
And thump 'em on the heads with as fatherly a air 
As ef each one of them was your little girl er boy, 

128 




iSrt&w 1 - 



WORTERMELON TIME 

I joy in my hart jest to hear that rippin' sound 

When you split one down the back and jolt the halves 
. in two, 
And the friends you love the best is gethered all around — 
And you says unto your sweethart, "Oh, here's the core 
fer you !" 

And I like to slice 'em up in big pieces fer 'em all, 
Espeshally the childern, and watch theyr high delight 

As one by one the rines with theyr pink notches falls, 
And they holler fer some more, with unquenched 
appetite. 

Boys takes to it natchurl, and I like to see 'em eat — 
A slice of wortermelon's like a frenchharp in theyr 
hands, 
And when they "saw" it through theyr mouth sich music 
can't be beat — 
'Cause it's music both the sperit and the stummick 
understands. 

Oh, they's more in wortermelons than the purty-colored 
meat, 
And the overflowin' sweetness of the worter squshed 
betwixt 

131 



WORTERMELON TIME 

The up'ard and the down'ard motions of a feller's teeth, 
And it's the taste of ripe old age and juicy childhood 
mixed. 

Fer I never taste a melon but my thoughts flies away 
To the summertime of youth ; and again I see the dawn, 

And the fadin' afternoon of the long summer day, 

And the dusk and dew a-fallin', and the night a-comin' 
on. 

And thare's the corn around us, and the lispim' leaves and 
trees, 
And the stars a-peekin' down on us as still as silver 
mice, 
And us hoys in the wortermelons on our hands and knees, 
And the new-moon hangin' ore us like a yeller-cored 
slice. 

Oh ! it's wortermelon time is a-comin' round again, 
And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n me, 

Fer the way I hanker after wortermelons is a sin — 
Which is the why and wharefore, as you can plainly see. 



132 




"•'*•"-• 



UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 



UP and down old Brandywine, 
In the days 'at's past and gone — 
With a dad-burn hook-and-line 
And a saplin'-pole — i swawn ! 

I've had more fun, to the square 
Inch, than ever anywhere ! 
Heaven to come can't discount mine 
Up and down old Brandywine ! 

135 



UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 

Hain't no sense in wishin 3 — yit 

Wisht to goodness I could jes 
"Gee" the blame' world round and git 
Back to that old happiness ! — 

Kindo' drive back in the shade 
'The old Covered .Bridge" there laid 
'Crosst the crick, and sorto' soak 
My soul over, hub and spoke ! 

Honest, now ! — it hain't no dream 

'At I'm wantin', — but the fac 3 s 
As they wuz ; the same old stream, 

And the same old times, i jacks ! — 
Gim me back my bare feet — and 
Stonebruise too ! — And scratched and tanned ! 
And let hottest dog-days shine 
Up and down old Brandywine ! 

In and on betwixt the trees 

'Long the banks, pour down yer noon, 
Kindo' curdled with the breeze 

And the yallerhammer's tune ; 



136 



UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 

And the smokin', chokin' dust 

O' the turnpike at its wusst — 

Saturdays, say, when it seems 

Road's jes jammed with country teams !- 

Whilse the old town, fur away 

'Crosst the hazy pastur'-land, 
Dozed-like in the heat o' day 
Peaceful' as a hired hand. 

Jolt the gravel th'ough the floor 
O' the old bridge ! — grind and roar 
With yer blame percession-line — 
Up and down old Brandywine ! 

Souse me and my new straw-hat 

Off the foot-log ! — what / care ?— 
Fist shoved in the crown o' that — 
Like the old Clown ust to wear. 
Wouldn't swop it fer a' old 
Gin-u-wine raal crown o' gold !— 
Keep yer King ef you'll gim me 
Jes the boy I ust to.be ! 



139 



UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 

Spill my fishin'-worms ! er steal 

My best "goggle-eye !" — but you 
Can't lay hands on joys I feel 
Nibblin' like they ust to do ! 
So, in memory, to-day 
Same old ripple lips away 
At my "cork" and saggin' line, 
Up and down old Brandywine ! 

There the logs is, round the hill, 

Where "Old Irvin" ust to lift 
Out sunfish from daylight till 

Dewfall — 'fore he'd leave "The Drift" 
And give us a chance — and then 
Kindo' fish back home again, 
Ketchin' 'em jes left and right 
Where we hadn't got "a bite !" 

Er, 'way windin' out and in, — 

Old path th'ough the iurnweeds 

And dog-fennel to yer chin — 

Then come suddent, th'ough the reeds 



140 



UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 

And cat-tails, smack into where 
Them-air woods-hogs list to scare 
Us clean 'crosst the County-line, 
Up and down old Brandywine ! 

But the dim roar o' the dam 

It 'ud coax us furder still 
To'rds the old race, slow and ca'm, 
Slidin' on to Huston's mill — 

Where, I 'spect, "The Freeport crowd" 
Never warmed to us er 'lowed 
We wuz quite so overly 
Welcome as we aimed to be. 

Still it 'peared-like ever'thing — 

Fur away from home as there— 
Had more relish-like, i jing! — 
Fish in stream, er bird in air ! 

O them rich old bottom-lands, 

Past where Cowden's Schoolhouse stands ! 

Wortermelons — master-mine ! 

Up and down old Brandywine! 



143 



UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE 

And sich pop-paws ! — Lumps o' raw 

Gold and green, — jes oozy th'ough 
With ripe yaller — like you've saw 
Custard-pie with no crust to : 

And jes gorges o' wild plums, 
Till a feller'd suck his thumbs 
Clean up to his elbows ! My ! — - 
Me some more er Jem me die! 

Up and down old Brandywine!. . . . 

Stripe me with pokeberry- juice ! — 
Flick me with a pizenvine 

And yell "Yip!" and lem me loose! 
— Old now as I then wuz young, 
'F I could sing as I have sung, 
Song 'ltd surely ring dee-vine 
Up and down old Brandywine ! 





WHEN EARLY MARCH SEEMS MIDDLE 
MAY 



WHEN country roads begin to thaw 
In mottled spots of damp and dust, 
And fences by the margin draw 
Along the frosty crust 
Their graphic silhouettes, I say, 
The Spring is coming round this way. 



WHEN EARLY MARCH SEEMS MIDDLE MAY 

When morning-time is bright with sun* 
And keen with wind, and both confuse 

The dancing, glancing eyes of one 
With tears that ooze and ooze — 
And nose-tips weep as well as they, 
The Spring is coming round this way. 

When suddenly some shadow-bird 
Goes wavering beneath the gaze, 

And through the hedge the moan is heard 
Of kine that fain would graze 
In grasses new, I smile and say, 
The Spring is coming round this way. 

When knotted horse-tails are untied, . 
x\nd teamsters whistle here and there, 

And clumsy mitts are laid aside 
And choppers' hands are bare, 
And chips are thick where children play, 
The Spring is coming round this way. 

When through the twigs the farmer tramps, 

And troughs are chunked beneath the trees, 
And fragrant hints of sugar-camps 
Astray in every breeze, — 
148 



WHEN EARLY MARCH SEEMS MIDDLE MAY 

When early March seems middle May, 
The Spring is coming round this way. 

When coughs are changed to laughs, and when 
Our frowns melt into smiles of glee, 

And all our blood thaws out again 
In streams of ecstasy, 
And poets wreak their roundelay, 
The Spring is coming round this way. 




151 







OH ! tell me a tale of the airly days — 
Of the times as they ust to be ; 
'Tiller of Fi-er" and "Shakespeare's Plays" 

Is a' most too deep fer me ! 
I want plane facts, and I want plane words, 

Of the good old-fashioned ways, 
When speech run free as the songs of birds 
'Way back in the airly days. 

152 



A TALE OF THE AIRLY DAYS 

Tell me a tale of the timber-lands — 

Of the old-time pioneers ; 
Somepin' a pore man understands 

With his feelins 's well as ears. 
Tell of the old log house, — about 

The loft, and the puncheon flore — 
The old fi-er-place, with the crane swung out, 

And the latch-string thrugh the door. 

Tell of the things jest as they was- — 

They don't need no excuse ! — 
Don't tech 'em up like the poets does, 

Tel theyr all too fine f er use ! — 
Say they was 'leven in the fambily — 

Two beds, and the chist, below, 
And the trundle-beds that each helt three, 

And the clock and the old bureau. 

Then blow the horn at the old back-door 

Tel the echoes all halloo, 
And the childern gethers home onc't more, 

Jest as they ust to do : 



155 




A TALE OF THE AIRLY DAYS 

Blow fer Pap tel he hears and comes, ♦ 

With Tomps and Elias, too, 
A-marchin' home, with the fife and drums 

And the old Red White and Blue ! 

Blow and blow tel the sound draps low 

As the moan of the whipperwill, 
And wake up Mother, and Ruth and Jo, 

All sleepin' at Bethel Hill: 
Blow and call tel the faces all 

Shine out in the back-log's blaze, 
And the shadders dance on the old hewed wall 

As they did in the airly days. 




OLD MAN'S NURSERY RHYME 

I 

IN the jolly winters 
Of the long-ago, 
It was not so cold as now — 

O ! No ! No ! 
Then, as I remember, 

Snowballs to eat 
Were as good as apples now. 
And every bit as sweet ! 

159- 



OLD MAN S NURSERY RHYME 



II 



In the jolly winters 

Of the dead-and-gone, 
Bub was warm as summer, 

With his red mitts on, — 
Just in his little waist- 

And-pants all together, 
Who ever heard him growl 

About cold weather? 

Ill 

In the jolly winters 

Of the long-ago — 
Was it half so cold as now? 

O ! No ! No ! 
Who caught his death o' cold, 

Making prints of men 
Flat-backed in snow that now's 

Twice as cold aeain? 



TOO 



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OLD MAN S NURSERY RHYME 
IV 

In the jolly winters 

Of the dead-and-gone, 
Startin' out rabbit-huntin' — ■ 

Early as the dawn, — 
Who ever froze his fingers, 

Ears, heels, or toes, — 
Or'd 'a' cared if he had? 

Nobody knows ! 



V 



Nights by the kitchen-stove, 

Shellin' white and red 
Corn in the skillet, and 

Sleepin' four abed ! 
Ah! the jolly winters 

Of the long-ago ! 
We were not as old as now- 

O ! No ! No ! 



163 




JUNE 



O QUEENLY month of indolent repose ! 
I drink thy breath in sips of rare perfume, 
As in thy downy lap of clover-bloom 
I nestle like a drowsy child and doze 
The lazy hours away. The zephyr throws 
The shifting shuttle of the Summer's loom 
And weaves a damask-work of gleam and gloom 
Before thy listless feet. The lily blows 
A bugle-call of fragrance o'er the glade ; 

And, wheeling into ranks, with plume and spear, 
Thy harvest-armies gather on parade ; 

While, faint and far away, yet pure and clear, 
A voice calls out of alien lands of shade : — 
All hail the Peerless Goddess of the Year ! 
164 



■: : ':H?.i- 




THE TREE-TOAD 



<< 5 Q CUR'OUS-LIKE," said the tree-toad, 
<-) "I've twittered fer rain all day ; 

And I got up soon, 
And hollered tel noon — 
But the sun, hit blazed away, 

Tell I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole, 
Weary at hart, and sick at soul! 
167 



THE TREE-TOAD 

: Dozed away fer an hour, 

And I tackled the thing agin : 

And I sung, and sung, 

Tel I knowed my lung 
Was jest about give in; 

And then, thinks I, ef hit don't rain now, 

They's nothin' in singin', anyhow ! 

'Onc't in a while some farmer 
Would come a-drivin' past ; 

And he'd hear my cry, 

And stop and sigh — 
Tel I. jest laid back, at last, 

And I hollered rain tel I thought my th'oat 

Would bust wide open at ever' note ! 

'But I fetched her !— O / fetched her!— 
'Cause a little while ago, 

As I kindo' set, 

With one eye shet, 
And a-singin' soft and low, 

A voice drapped down on my fevered brain, 

A-sayin', — 'Ef you'll jest hush Til rain!'" 



1 68 




A SONG OF LONG AGO 

A SONG of Long Ago : 
Sing it lightly— sing it low — 
Sing it softly— like the lisping of the lips we 

used to know 
When our baby-laughter spilled 
From the glad hearts ever filled 
With music blithe as robin ever trilled ! 
171 



A SONG OF LONG AGO 

Let the fragrant summer breeze, 

And the leaves of locust-trees, 

And the apple-buds and blossoms, and the 

wings of honey-bees, 
All palpitate with glee, 
Till the happy harmony 
Brings back each childish joy to you and me. 

Let the eyes of fancy turn 

Where the tumbled pippins burn 

Like embers in the orchard's. lap of tangled 

grass and fern, — 
There let the old path wind 
In and out and on behind 
The cider-press that chuckles as we grind. 

Blend in the song the moan 

Of the dove that grieves alone, 

And the wild whir of the locust, and the 

bumble's drowsy drone ; 
And the low of cows that call 
Through the pasture-bars when all 
The landscape fades away at evenfall. 



172 



A SONG OF LONG AGO 

Then, far away and clear, 

Through the dusky atmosphere, 

Let the wailing of the killdee be the only 

sound we hear : 
O sad and sweet and low 
As the memory may know 
Is the glad-pathetic song of Long Ago ! 




17.5 





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OLD WINTERS ON THE FARM 

I HAVE jest about decided 
It 'ud keep a town-boy hoppin' 
Fer to work all winter, choppin' 
Fer a' old fireplace, like / did ! 
Lawz ! them old times wuz contrairy ! — 

Blame' backbone o' winter, 'peared-like, 
Wouldn't break! — and I wuz skeerd-like 
Clean on into February! 

Nothin' ever made me madder 
Than fer Pap to stomp in, layin' 
In a' extra forestick, savin', 

" Groun'-hog's out and seed his shadder !" 
176 




/// 



ROMANCIN' 

15 B'EN a-kindo "musin 3 ' ," as the feller says, and I'm 
About o' the conclusion that they hain't no better 
time, 
When you come to cipher on it, than the times we ust to 

know 
When we swore our first "dog- gone-it" sorto' solum-like 
and low ! 

179 



ROMANCIN 

You git my idy, do you? — Little tads, you understand — 
Jest a-wishin' thue and thue you that you on'y wuz a 

man. — 
Yit here I am, this minit, even sixty, to a day, 
And fergittin' all that's in it, wishin' jest the other way! 

I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er demonstrate 
Whare the trouble is, er hector and domineer with Fate, — 
But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and blue, 
And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what I 
do!— 

I jest gee-haw the hosses, and onhook the swingle-tree, 
Whare the hazel-bushes tosses down theyr shadders over 

me ; 
And I draw my plug o' navy, and I climb the fence, and 

set 
Jest a-thinkin' here, i gravy ! tel my eyes is wringin'-wet ! 

Tho' I still kin see the trouble o' the pre sunt, I kin see — 
Kindo' like my sight wuz double — all the things that 

list to be; 
And the flutter o' the robin and the teeter o' the wren 
Sets the wilier-branches bobbin' "howdy-do" thum Now 

to Then! 

1 80 



ROMANCIN 

The deadnin' and the thicket's jest a-bilin' full of June, 
From the rattle o' the cricket, to the yallar-hammer's 

tune ; 
And the catbird in the bottom, and the sapsuck on the 

snag, 
Seems ef they can't — od-rot 'em! — jest do nothin' else 

but brag ! 

They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay, 
And that sassy little critter jest a-peckin' all the day; 
They's music in the "flicker," and they's music in the 

thrush, 
And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in the 

brush ! 

They's music all around me ! — And I go back, in a dream 
Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep, — and in the 

stream 
That ust to split the medder whare the dandylions 

growed, 
I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the 

road. 



183 



ROMANCIN 

Then's when T b'en a-fishin' ! — And they's* other fellers, 

too, 
With theyr hick'ry-poles a-swishin' out behind 'em ; and 

a few 
Little "shiners" on our stringers, with theyr tails tip- 

toehr bloom, 
As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy jurney 

home. 

I kin see us, true to Natur', thum the time we started out, 
With a biscuit and a 'tater in our little "roundabout" ! — ■ 
I kin see our lines a-tanglin', and our elbows in a jam, 
And our naked legs a-danglin' thum the apern o' the dam. 

I kin see the honeysuckle climbin' up around the mill, 
And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a-growl- 

in' still; 
And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe. 
And jest git in and row it like the miller ust to do. 

W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortul plane 
I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the lane; 
And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n 

"Money-musk" 
Fer the lightnin' bugs a-blinkin' and a-dancin' in the dusk. 

184 



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ROMANCIN 



And when I've kep' on "musin'," as the feller says, tel I'm 
Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they hain't no better 

time, 
When you come to cipher on it, than the old times, — I 

de-clare 
I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it !" jest as soft as any 



prayer 




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